Ashes
by peddlergirl
Summary: It was all over. Done. My husband was gone. My home was gone. My future was gone. I had nothing left. So I sat in the front yard and watched my life burn to ashes. And that was how Sam found me.


He found me sitting in the yard, watching my home be consumed by the flames. Photos, memories, all the pieces of my past burned fiercely against the dark night sky. The stars and moon were clouded over, leaving flickering firelight the only thing casting its eerie illumination on the surrounding farm land. The fire department and first responders had long since left. Their condolences were hollow, and the few offers of a ride or shelter had been easily dismissed with lies of nearby family on their way to be with me. There was no one to come. My family was all deceased and I had cut off everyone else from our life.

But that was all over. Done. My husband was gone. My home was gone. My future was gone. I had nothing left. So I sat in the front yard and watched my life burn to ashes.

Soft sounds of crickets and the crackle of flames nearly covered the crunch of footsteps up our gravel drive. I listened to his steady progress up the lane for several long moments until the wisp of Sam's comforting scent had pressed past the overwhelming smell of destruction. His broad hand dropped to my shoulder, its heavy weight intending to give comfort. I continued to stare blindly at the flames. I had separated him from my life a long time ago, but somehow his arrival didn't surprise me.

A section of the house collapsed, sending a shower of sparks heavenward. "He's gone," I murmured.

"I know." Sam squeezed my shoulder. "Steve called me."

The fire chief had been the one to notify me, as well. That single phone call had crumbled the world around me. Distantly I realized I had abandoning an overflowing cart in the grocery aisle when the fire chief's sparse words caused everything else to fade and send me rushing out of the store. _I'm afraid I have some bad news._ "He's just … gone."

Without a word, Sam gathered me beneath the elbows and pulled me up into an embrace. I stood numbly as he pulled me closer, my instinctive withdrawal from physical contact oddly absent. "You're staying with us tonight," he said softly. "There's plenty of space for you to get some rest and get cleaned up if you want to."

"Is Dean there?" I asked dully. "He won't want me there."

"Trust me, he'll be fine," Sam said softly. He stepped back, sweeping me up into his arms cautiously as if afraid I would break.

Unfortunately, he was far too late for that.

* * *

The grinding clank of the bunker door made me jump. Sam's footsteps were loud on the metal staircase behind me, his large presence guiding my slow progress toward the ground floor. When we reached it, he gestured me into a large bookshelf-lined room with vaulted ceilings, leading me toward the nearest chair. He crouched in front of me after I settled, looking up into my eyes. I looked back at him vacantly, waiting for direction. His brow creased as he gently squeezed my folded hands, his voice little more than a murmur. "Let me grab you something to eat." But before he could move Dean appeared with a plate in his hand, a slice of pie with a neat curl of cool whip artfully displayed.

"Becca." Dean nodded to me warily.

His caution broke through part of the haze that surrounded me and I pushed myself stiffly back to my feet. "Look, I don't know why I'm here. I told you this wasn't a good idea, Sam," I said flatly. "I'm going-"

"You're staying." Sam corrected without heat before casting a firm look at his brother. "As long as she needs to, Dean."

Dean put the pie down in front of me, holding up his hands. "I'm not arguing. Seriously. There's plenty of room, we'll barely even know you're here. But I'll warn you now –" The tension in the room heightened until Dean pasted on a small smile, "-there won't be a lick of hot water in the morning. Diva Sam here uses it all." His weak attempt at levity fell flat and I just blinked at him.

He shifted, the crinkles at his eyes deepening. "I mean it, Becca. It's no bother. I know the last time we saw each other … we didn't leave things on a good note. But you've had a seriously shitty day and we both know the person responsible for the beef between us is – uh, well, not going to be a problem anymore. I'm willing to put the past behind us if you are." He watched me for a long moment and my lack of protest seemed answer enough for him. He gave a short nod. "You've always been welcome here, Becca, and with Jake dying so suddenly—" He caught himself, rubbing his hand across the back of his neck and pointedly ignoring the fierce glare from Sam. "I'm just saying take whatever time you need. It's not a problem."

Their wariness of my grief was like a weight on my shoulders. They saw me as the grieving widow and pity was thick in the air, stifling me. I struggled to respond, my synapses so fried it took an immense amount of energy to filter my response to a neutral tone. "I appreciate the offer but I'm fine. I need to – I should've … I shouldn't have come here. Please, just take me back home —"

Sam crossed his arms over his broad chest, gaze penetrating. "You need somewhere to crash and anything that needs doing can be handled another day. We've been friends a long time, Becca, and I _know_ you - you're _not_ fine."

Something inside me fractured, that one statement enough to topple through the thin veneer of numbness that had gotten me through the past few hours. I clenched my soot-streaked hands, overwhelmed by the flood of anger that rushed to the surface. "I _am_ fine. He's gone, Sam—he's finally gone and all I feel is relieved." I let out a sharp laugh, one that felt like it ought to have jagged edges and draw blood. "How's that for knowing me so well? My husband is dead and I'm nothing but _relieved_." The words hung in the air and I slammed the lid back down on my emotions. Not the time. Not the place. I had survived this long without spilling the truth and I was not about to start now. I was _free_. Jake was gone, and I would never _ever_ have to walk into that fucking nightmare of a house again. I hadn't set the fire, but I envied whoever had. How satisfying it must have been to set match to that heap. To watch those first slow licks of flame begin to grow. I had imagined walking out of my life enough times that there was no great pain in its loss. But Jake – I never truly thought I would be free of him.

But that freedom suddenly made me realize how small my world had gotten, how limited my contact with the outside world had been. The grocery run I had been on when I got the call was the first time in weeks that I had left that house. Fear licked through me when the enormity of what I was facing started to settle in. There were decisions to make – so many decisions. There was no one there to dictate them anymore, but there was also no one to make sure I made the right ones. Every step moving forward was on my shoulders, and I felt as if my composure was held together with duct tape and dental floss. Maybe Sam and Dean were right – maybe I should let them make this one decision for me. With everything unraveling in my hands maybe being in the bunker with the pair of them was not the worst way to regroup at the moment. They were both calm, rational – two things that felt completely out of reach at the moment. Yes, maybe I should defer to their judgement. Come to think of it, when was the last time I had made the right decision on _anything_? Had there _ever_ been a time that I made good decisions? My thoughts started to spin, and distantly I realized that this was barely the tip of the iceberg of what I had to sort through now that I was on my own.

"Why, Becca?" Sam's question was sharp and that unfamiliar edge drew me out of my chaotic thoughts with a snap.

"What?"

" _Why_."

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. Five years. Five years I had buried the truth in the shadows. And his single ragged question dragged everything kicking and screaming to the surface. The darkness, the fear – all of the things I tried to forget. The longer my silence drew out, the more Sam's shoulder's seemed to expand with tension and a pressure started to build in my chest. It felt like he was growing larger and larger and pressing his way into my space even without taking a step.

A jagged breath tore loose and I stumbled backward, knocking the chair over in my haste to get away from his intensity. "I – I'll stay. I just – I'm ready for bed now. I need to go to bed."

"Becca, tell me what's going on—" Sam protested.

" _Please._ " I could do this, as long as I had a little space. I could wrestle these questions back into a box and slam the lid back down on them. But not with them so close. Not with the weight of my confession pressing down, knocking on doors I wanted to keep chained shut. I could feel it, the panic riding just beneath my skin. I should never have said the things I did. No one was supposed to know. I had put everything at risk and if I had just been able to keep my mouth shut-

Dean cleared his throat. "Easy, Becca. You're fine. This is a safe place."

"Please – just let me go to my room."

"You don't need to be afraid, you're safe here—"

" _Please_. Just let me go to my room!"

Sam and Dean shared a long look before Dean stepped forward. "Okay, Becca. Okay. It's this way, just follow me."


End file.
